


Tune Into My Frequency

by pasdexcuses



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: The hotel is packed, there are reporters everywhere and nothing short of a full-blown screaming match with the manager is going to get her and Dan two separate rooms.





	Tune Into My Frequency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigostohelit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigostohelit/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** The characters featured in this story are fictional and do not belong to me. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Title from Stars' _We don't want your body_

Amy is willing to concede to the fact that the first time it happens, it’s probably someone’s mistake. She’s willing, mostly because she’s 98% sure it’s _her_ mistake, not that she will ever admit it to anyone. It also doesn’t hurt that they are both too tired to give a single fuck about who’s sleeping next to whom.

The second time it happens, Amy is 100% certain this is not her fault. She seriously considers spending a quarter of an hour whisper-yelling at the receptionist until the hotel can get them two separate rooms. But she already knows that would be an exercise in futility. The hotel is packed, there are reporters everywhere and nothing short of a full-blown screaming match with the manager is going to get her and Dan two separate rooms.

“The keycard,” she says through her teeth, making sure to glare for good measure. 

Ten minutes later, Amy and Dan are standing next to each on their way to their room on the fourteenth floor.

“I have to say,” Dan starts, “I half expected you to have a meltdown in the lobby.”

When Amy turns to him, he’s smirking in this annoyingly knowing way that makes her want to punch him. Lowering her voice, she says, “If I ever find out you had anything to do with this, I will make sure no one from here to the moon ever hires your stupid face ever again.”

“Please, as if I’d ever want to share a room with you _on purpose_.”

The elevator door rings open just before Amy has the chance to point out that he already has. 

As they wheel their carry-ons down an empty hallway that smells of damp carpet, she makes a silent note to never again let the fucking interns take over hotel booking. Dan stops dramatically at their door, making a real show of giving her a once-over, shaking his head before finally resigning to show them inside.

Amy, who’s had enough of Dan’s stupid face and is now scrolling down her Twitter feed, bumps into Dan back, just a couple of steps inside the room. 

“What—what the fuck are you doing stopping in the middle of the room, you—” And then she, too, sees what Dan is staring at and stops. “That’s it,” she says, “I’m giving that prepubescent receptionist a piece of my mind.”

She’s at the door when Dan grabs her by the elbow. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh, so now suddenly you do want to share a bed with me? Well, too bad, ‘cause I’m not sleeping while you drool on your pillowcase two inches away!”

“A. I don’t drool. And B. Did you see those reporters down at the lobby? A tape was just released of our boss bragging about sucking Muslim dick, do you think this campaign needs another scandal?”

Amy glares at him. Knowing he’s right only makes her more furious, so she stomps past him, drops her bag on the right side of the queen-sized bed before turning back to Dan and pointing her finger at him.

“If I so much as feel your breath on me,” she starts, but Dan is quickly cutting her off with a “you should be so lucky,” before locking himself up in the bathroom.

She makes a noise like an animal dying, desperate and enraged as she starts taking off her shoes and unbuttoning her shirt. In a few seconds, she’s changed out of her work clothes and into a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt with at least three holes in it. Then she sits on the bed. 

Scrolling down her phone, she switches from MSNBC to Politico to the New York Times, not really absorbing anything she’s reading. She keeps taking breaks from staring at her phone to eye the bathroom door as though the Antichrist is going to come through it at any time. It’s hard to tell how long this goes on for, but it’s long enough that Amy can’t really stand it anymore. 

Taking her toothbrush, she crosses the room to rap at the door. “If his pompous majesty would like to come out any time between now and sunrise,” she says. When Dan fails to answer, she knocks harder. “You douchebag, stop hogging the bathroom!”

Dan emerges from a cloud of perfumed steamed that is an odd mix of cheap hotel shampoo and his expensive aftershave. He’s also not wearing anything beyond a towel wrapped around his waist. He raises a single eyebrow at her, and she can feel herself blinking stupidly, her brain completely blank.

It isn’t until he leans against the doorframe, arms folded over his bare and slightly wet chest that she registers what he’s saying. “Looking’s free, but touching will cost you, ma’am.”

She can feel herself going pink in the apples of her cheeks. It’s really self-preservation when all she does is mutter a “ _Jesus fucking Christ_ ,” under her breath before wiggling her way inside the bathroom and shutting the door. Once she’s in there, she’s overwhelmed by the cloud of steam that smells of Dan and has to try really hard not to bolt back outside straight away.

After brushing and flossing and washing her face, she stares at her own reflection in the mirror. There’s a stress-related pimple coming up through the skin on her chin, which she supposes is better than the one she had growing on her forehead a few weeks ago. Her mascara is not coming off properly, but she knows better than to rub her eyes raw until it does. The last thing she wants is Dan accusing her of having pink eye. 

There really isn’t much she can, or even wants to do, so she steps back outside. She’s ready to crawl under the covers and pretend to fall asleep the second her head hits the pillow. Except she walks out to find Dan in his boxers _and nothing else_ , yelling at someone over the phone.

“I swear to God, it’s like you’re fucking trying to make this even worse,” she says, and for a brief moment contemplates stripping down to her underwear so he can feel awkward and uncomfortable, too.

She remembers in time that her bra is already neatly packed in her carry-on. And while she would be on board for one-upping Dan in a twisted game of underwear chicken if she had a camisole or whatever the fuck passed as lingerie these days, she has no intention of letting him see her nipples.

Instead, she goes to her side of the bed, gets under the covers and turns off her lamp. Her head hasn’t hit the pillow when she notices Dan has stopped yelling and the few words she caught actually sink in.

“Were you yelling at my intern?” she demands, sitting upright. 

“You mean the pre-teen millennial with acne that you only hired to feel better about yourself?”

“I did not—”

“And no, I was actually yelling at _my_ intern, after I found out he was the one who did this.”

“I told you you shouldn’t hire jailbait,” Amy says, smirking.

Dan is apparently too tired after chewing out his own intern, so all he does is roll his eyes and get in on the other side of the bed.

Amy thinks she’s in for yet another sleepless night on the campaign trail. So it comes as a complete surprise when one moment she’s thinking about the blowjob tape and the next she’s waking up to the sound of her alarm.

 

Amy doesn’t believe in coincidences, and after she and Dan are forced to share a bed _again_ , she starts getting suspicious. She still hasn’t decided whether or not Dan has had a hand in this situation, but before they leave for the next city, she makes sure to set time aside to go shopping. She refuses to let Dan be the only one with the power to make things awkward by going to bed in his ridiculously tight boxer briefs.

She sets the time aside, makes sure it’s enough to find what she’s looking for. She buys a couple of cheap camisoles at Victoria’s Secret and four pairs of discount panties, thinking she’s done. She’s mostly just wandering around after that, enjoying the fact that she’s not surrounded by a team of people that are one bad, cock-sucking joke away from losing their shit. And then there it is, on a La Perla window display, the most ridiculous set of blood-red lace panties and baby doll that she has ever seen in her entire life. 

She hadn’t plan on shelling out some serious cash for this. And yet, as soon as she walks in and sees it up close, she knows she can’t not buy it. The shopkeeper insists on draping her tape around Amy to find her perfect size and brings out several styles of panties before shoving Amy inside a changing booth that has no business being as wide and comfortable as it is. 

Diligently, she tries on the baby doll. Secretly impressed by the shopkeeper’s ability to find just her size, she takes a couple of steps back to look at the mirror. She was expecting to laugh at how over-the-top this whole thing was. But. Well, it’s nice. And, like, unexpectedly badass and sexy. 

“Can I come in dear?” the shopkeeper says. Amy isn’t done protesting when the older woman is stepping in, waving a hand. “I want to see if the size is right, just a second, nothing I haven’t seen before.” Her professional eyes are on Amy’s boobs immediately as she starts hmm-ing and aah-ing. “This looks _beautiful_ on you,” she says, smiling kindly. “Your boyfriend is going to love it.”

Amy bites her tongue, smiling back if only to get her to leave. Ten minutes later, she’s walking out of La Perla with a tiny bag dangling from her arm, hundreds of dollars less in her bank account and a wide smirk on her face.

 

The next time she ends up sharing a room with Dan, she’s waiting for him to emerge surrounded a cloud of steam with nothing on but one of the camisoles and a pair of satin panties. She has positioned herself on the bed casually, as though she never does a thing other than lounge in camisoles while she scrolls down Twitter.

“What—” Dan starts, then stops, opening and closing his mouth. 

Bag of toiletries in hand, Amy pushes up from the bed and saunters into the bathroom, making sure she _delicately_ brushes past Dan. 

She hears Dan’s soft “what the fuck?” through the door and smirks. Game on.

 

Given Dan’s initial reaction, Amy figures it’ll be a while before he retaliates. And she isn’t exactly wrong. 

This time, they’re staying in the city for four days, which means they’re sharing a room for three consecutive nights, their longest stint yet. Nothing really happens on the second, not unless you’re counting Dan blinking stupidly at her. It isn’t until the third night, when she throws back in his face the same ludicrous line about touching and money that Dan finally has a comeback. 

“Oh, so that is what this is about, Amy,” he says, giving her an appraising look. “You’re becoming a prostitute! Are you sneakily trying to test your services on me?” 

Amy can feel herself go red in the face. “You’re such a fucking pig, Dan.”

“Shouldn’t dish it if you can’t really take it,” he replies. “Oh, _darling_ , don’t go hide in the bathroom!” he calls after her.

Amy spends twice as long locked up in the bathroom, feeling more than slightly ridiculous, but also a little bit turned on. Because for a moment out there, before Dan decided to call her on her game, he was staring at her face, pupils blown. She wonders if he noticed it. The electric tension that lasted half a second but was so palpable she can perfectly recall how it felt.

 

The campaign takes a break for a couple of weeks, where she doesn’t see or hear from Dan at all. And then they’re back in the thick of it, sleeping in separate rooms because three days ago a photo of Amy with a La Perla bag dangling from her arm was making the rounds, and Ben has decided that their boss is already one liberated female too many. 

“So, what now?” Amy asks him, mutinous. “I’m pretending I’m a virgin and waiting till marriage?”

“Yes,” Ben answers simply.

“No one will have trouble believing that, Ames,” Dan quips, winking.

“Shut the fuck up, Dan.”

Later that night, when Amy is tossing and turning in bed, the screen of her phone lights up with a text. The only reason she has Dan’s number saved under _Dan Egan_ and not _Pretentious Douchebag_ is because she lives in perpetual fear of her phone being stolen, and she is nothing if not professional. 

_Whatcha wearing?_ his text says.

She rolls her eyes, stabbing the keyboard on her screen to type her response. _In a year, when Selina is POTUS (again) and the NSA is presenting all the contents of our phones to Congress as part of a federal investigation because someone fucked up along the way, I am not having some white man read sexts from my phone aloud._

_I don’t know_ , comes Dan’s reply seconds later. _Which white man is doing the reading? Paul Ryan has a sexy voice._

Amy face-palms so hard she nearly stabs herself in the eye. _I hope they read this._

_Would pay to see Ryan’s face._

_Go to sleep, you degenerate._

The three dots threaten a reply, but after a moment they go away without another message from Dan.

 

Amy continues to pretend to be saving herself for marriage. Dan continues making vague attempts at sexting when it’s well past all their bedtimes. Once, he does it while they’re in a middle of a speech, and Amy’s eyes widen as she stares. It’s unfortunate she happened to be within range of some reporter’s camera.

After, Ben shoves the two of them in a room. “Would it be too hard for the two of you to leave your fucking love story for _after_ the campaign?”

Amy can’t help the way she blushes at the suggestion of her and Dan’s nonexistent relationship. 

“Won’t happen again, Ben,” Dan says casually, avoiding Amy altogether. 

Amy nods for good measure, and Ben lets them leave without further warnings. 

 

Two days later, Dan shows up at her hotel door, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and strip of condoms in the other.

“So,” he starts, “I think we should get this over with and have sex.”

Amy yanks him by the arm, pulling him inside her room and closing the door behind him. “You idiot!” she whisper-yells. “Who the fuck walks around a hotel room with a _strip of condoms_ , just what the fuck!”

Dan gives her an appraising look. It isn’t lost on either of them how Amy is back in her pajama pants and holed t-shirt.

“No baby doll tonight?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“Camisole,” Amy corrects. “I had a parade of businessmen in here,” she deadpans. “Might be ruined forever.”

It pulls an unexpected laugh out of Dan. There’s something uncomfortably sincere about his smile as he grabs her by the waist to whisper in her ear, “Come on, this sexual tension is killing me.”

Amy raises her eyebrows at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But then Dan’s mouth is on hers, greedy as he tries to coax a reaction from her. She forgets what a good kisser Dan is, purposeful, practiced, and so fucking intense. She’s breathing hard when he finally pulls back, like a fucking teenager who’s having her first sexual experience, Jesus Christ. 

“So?” Dan asks, smirking.

“Fuck you,” Amy says, leaning forward to grab the back of Dan’s neck and pull him back down for another hungry kiss.

 

They have sex all over her room that night and the following day. On the bed, on the floor, in the shower and against the bathroom counter. They drink wine and trash talk the competition in between. Amy falls asleep on Dan’s chest after they mute CNN. 

“Good thing we have a day off,” Dan says, stretching out in Amy’s bed the following morning. 

When they have sex in the shower, he starts whispering things in her ear that make her toes curl as she stifles a moan. She hooks her leg on his hip, grabbing his ass, so he can fuck her deeper.

“Fuck,” Dan breathes out, hips stuttering forward. He bites down hard on Amy’s shoulder blade when he gets close. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, teeth against her skin where they are surely leaving a bruise.

“Harder,” Amy says, voice high-pitched. “Don’t—”

His mouth is on hers again as he thrusts forward faster, harder, and it’s taking all her strength to keep herself upright. She feels her own breath catch, her muscles tensing up as water runs down her back. And then she’s teetering over the edge of her orgasm, legs shaking.

She loses her concentration, and it’s just Dan holding her where she is as he thrusts forward a couple more times, moaning low in his throat. He lets go of her slowly after he comes, pulling out and throwing the condom in the direction of the trashcan. 

“Gross,” Amy says after the condom hits the floor instead. 

“Shut up,” Dan says, bringing her close. His lips are pressed to the side of Amy’s face when he adds, “We should probably stop wasting water. The environment and all.”

“Yes,” Amy agrees, sleepy all over again. “The environment.”

 

Amy figures nearly twenty-four hours of fucking is enough to break the sexual tension —as Dan likes to call it. But two weeks later, Amy is riding Dan after he tries to force her to watch Fox News. 

They’re in his room, his bed, this time, and he’s saying something along the lines of, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” He holds the remote as far from her reach as he can manage.

“And there’s a difference between that and boosting the ratings of a right-wing tabloid,” she retorts, climbing on top of him in an attempt to grab the remote.

And there it is again, the disturbingly sincere smile on his face as he reaches up to touch the side of her face. She leans into the touch involuntarily, feels Dan’s hips shift under her, his hand dropping to touch her thigh. His touches are light, slow, as though he wants to take his time. Which is confusing and now what they are doing, so Amy grips the headboard for leverage, grinding down hard against him. Dan stops, looks for something in her face, but when she grinds down a second time, he closes his eyes, getting on board. 

 

Dan likes to finger her. He also likes going down on her, does it as often as she goes down on him. But his voice goes low and throaty when he’s got her wet against his fingers. He doesn’t even fuck her sometimes.

“I want to make you come like this,” he says in the shell of her ear, making her knees buckle. “Tell me what you like.”

They’re up against a wall. Amy has kicked away her heels and blazer, the buttons of her shirt are undone down to her navel. But she’s still wearing her sheer tights and pencil skirt. Dan has worked a hand inside her underwear, has to fingers inside her while his thumb is rubbing lazy circles over her clit. 

“Don’t stop,” she says. “Don’t you fucking—”

“Like this?” he asks, his fingers curling inside.

“ _Fuck_.”

He thumbs her bottom lip with his free hand, and she catches it, biting when her body tenses, so close. He chuckles, mumbling something she doesn’t catch. She moans when he moves, shaking and coming undone.

 

They’ve been steadily fucking for over two months when they hit the last stop in the campaign trail. It’s a full day from the moment the get to the city, so they only check into their hotel late at night. They go their separate ways to check in, but Ken grabs the both of them to the side. 

“And a surprise for the happy couple,” Ben says, offering a single keycard to them and smirking for good measure. “Congratulations for making it to the end without appearing half-naked on any front pages.”

Amy is on the verge of correcting Ben. They are not a happy couple, they aren’t even a couple. But then Dan is taking the keycard from him. 

“Don’t expect us for breakfast!” Dan says, walking to the elevators.

They ride up to the thirtieth floor in silence. When the door rings open, they step out together, wheeling their carry-ons behind them. There are only two doors on this floor, and there’s is to the right.

Dan throws the door open, making a whole show out of letting Amy go in first. She rolls her eyes, walking inside before stopping dead. 

She feels Dan bump against her as she says, “What the hell?”

“Oh, my God,” Dan says right behind her.

The room is gigantic, full of the smell of lit scented candles. There’s a ridiculously expensive bottle of champagne chilling next to the bed, where a pair of towels have been folded to look like swans kissing.

“Oh, my God,” Dan says again, bursting out laughing. “Oh, my fucking God, I’m gonna kill Ben.”

“This is so fucking cheesy!” Amy complains. “What even with the towels, what—”

“Who cares,” Dan says, draping an arm around her waist. “Let’s get naked.”

And then Amy remembers her fucking lace set from La Perla is still buried deep in her carry-on, and it is just too perfect.

“I have a better idea,” she tells him, kissing him square on the mouth before she dragging her carry-on into the bathroom. 

The fabric has wrinkled somewhat, and she has lost some weight after two months of nothing but stress and sex. But it still looks like nothing else on her. 

She finds Dan’s eyes as she saunters back into the bedroom and towards the bed. Dan is naked and lounging on the bed, but when he sees her, he sits up straight. He licks his lips, pupils blown under the candle light.

“Where have you been hiding that?” he asks.

“Oh,” Amy says, airily. “This old thing?”

Dan laughs, hauling her on the bed. “You look beautiful,” he says, kissing her, slow and sweet.

And it suddenly hits her. The ridiculous room, the expensive champagne, the scented candles and low lights. Her fucking baby doll and how she felt when she first saw it on her own body. How the shopkeeper had told her her _boyfriend_ would love it. It’s suddenly too much, and she’s choking on this thing she has no name for but that presses hard, harder against her chest.

“Amy?” Dan asks, searching for something in her eyes.

Dan is one of the worst people Amy has ever met. But lack of observation is not actually one of his character flaws. She knows he can tell something is off because his hand stops snaking down her thighs to rub circles on her arm. And it is so ridiculous, how it is this small thing that sends her over the edge of her own sanity. Because this isn’t what they do. They don’t comfort each other. They don’t ask questions, they—

“Hey,” Dan says, a hand cupping her face. “Do you wanna talk about this?”

“No,” Amy snaps, pushing him away so she can sit up on the bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about my fucking feelings with you of all people. I—”

“Why not? I’m practically your—” his eyes go wide before he finishes his sentence. 

“You’re practically my what?” Amy demands. 

And now it’s Dan’s turn to look mortified. She expects him to deny it all, pretend like Amy misheard and/or that she’s crazy and hormonal. 

Instead, he looks at her, uncomfortably and stubbornly keeping eye contact as he says, “Listen, I haven’t slept with anyone else in a while, not because I haven’t had offers, I mean, come on.” He gestures at his own body, making Amy rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. “But because I haven’t wanted to. I look at these bombshells—”

“You’re disgusting.”

“—and all I really want is to be stuck in yet another shitty hotel room with you, making you come after you get all hot and bothered by Joe and Mika having yet another ridiculous argument on what it means to be a Republican nowadays. I mean, it’s fucking crazy how worked up you get, and let’s not even get started on Larry King or the mystifying angry lady-boner you get when we accidentally-on-purpose turn on Fox News.”

“Okay, I get it!” 

“No, you don’t,” Dan insists. “Those are all incredibly preposterous, and yet I would rather be here, with you, than anywhere else.”

“This is pathetic,” Amy says softly. “For the both of us, what a bunch of nerds.”

It pulls a laugh out of Dan, who reaches out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah,” he agrees easily. “It kind of is.” 

He moves slowly, as though trying to give Amy an opportunity to opt out. When she doesn’t, he brushes his mouth against hers. It’s a careful, soft touch that is nothing like the angry, greedy kisses they usually exchange. 

“So,” he says, so close to her his lips brush against her skin. “What do you say? Wanna be my girlfriend?”

“We’ll end up burning everything to the ground,” Amy replies.

He chuckles, his breathing tickling the side of her face. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree,” he says. “But I also happen to think we’ll put on a great show. Like a motherfucking Fourth of July firework display.”


End file.
